THE TRUTH ABOUT THE ABORTION PILL
The Abortion Pill Reversal
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THE FIGHT FOR MY LIFE
In the middle of the week, in the middle of the day and in the middle of my crisis, I found myself lying on the bathroom floor, face up, looking at the ceiling. I heard the shower running as I regained consciousness. Alone, confused and cold, I unhooked my legs from the top of the tub, turned over and propped myself up against the toilet. I was met with extreme fatigue and light-headedness as I shifted my body. There was no one to call for help as I was the only one at home. As I slowly collected my thoughts, I carefully stood up and turned off the shower. I thought the process would be simple and straightforward. I believed that I would regain control over my future since my present had been smashed into a million pieces by someone I loved and trusted.
My mother, a strong, loving and faithful woman, did what she could to raise her two children alone while keeping her own psychological and emotional composure intact. She provided a spiritual foundation as best as she knew how. Yet, the emotional void I experienced in childhood would ultimately influence all relationships thereafter. Without a father present in my youth to nurture my sense of self-worth as a young woman, I swam in a sea of self-doubt, emotional insecurity and hunger for love from men. While exhibiting self-control and putting my faith in Christ in other areas of my life, I refused to relinquish my emotional well-being to God. Failed relationship after failed relationship stirred up in me a desperation that I would reach the age of 30 with no children and no husband. Single and 27 years old, I attended church alone week after week painfully pushing back tears and heartbreak as I watched families – fathers, mothers, sons, daughters – worship together in the pews. Exhausted from continually grieving over a future I feared I would never have, I met a man who promised me the world—someone who I thought would stay, choose me first and bring me the emotional peace I longed for. As I walked into that relationship, I walked away from my faith in Jesus.
After two years of submitting myself to psychological abuse, manipulation, and lies, I gathered the courage to leave my dead end relationship while bracing myself for the aftermath of spiritual ruin. I searched for pieces of me among the wreckage of mangled and tarnished dreams to have a family, a home, a career, and a faith that would last a lifetime. Who was I? Who was the Crystal that once found identity and security in success through hard work, prudent decisions, self-control and future planning? Well, she had to be among the debris somewhere. With resolve, I had one choice only; that choice was to get back on a pathway to empowerment and restoration, which would begin on my mother’s couch and with putting what items remained from my home into a storage unit. After turning my condo over to foreclosure, my financial debt over to bankruptcy and my life over to new beginnings, I slowly transitioned into a spiritual reawakening. I began to feel free and light again as I was shutting the door on the past, a dark chapter on yet another failed relationship. Surely, as long as I was alive, I could press ahead on my terms. What I did not know was that a life, not my own, was also inside of me.
There I was, at the age of 29, single, with no husband, no home and no financial stability. I responded to home pregnancy test after home pregnancy test in disbelief and with a hope that by some miracle, all of the tests were false positives. I told no one initially. I held out for one week or so before coming forward to my mother in tears. In the midst of great emotional upheaval, I emphatically rejected the possibility of having the baby of a man who took so much away from me. I would not have his baby and be bound to him in any way for the rest of my life. I would not be a single mother statistic after losing all of what I had built over my life time. It was the wrong time, wrong situation and wrong person. How would my dream family ever come to fruition in this way? I could not bear another blow to my fragile ego and endure overwhelming shame without losing the rest of me. I truly believed that my baby would hinder my healing. I simply was not prepared to raise my baby without a father, therefore sentencing her to a life of emotional turmoil and financial lack. With no health insurance and no primary doctor, I headed to the first place I could think of—Planned Parenthood—to jump over yet another hurdle standing in the way between me and my restored future.
When I arrived at the Planned Parenthood clinic, I had no clear expectations. I entered a medium-sized waiting room mostly filled with women who seemed to divert their gaze from one another. That didn’t matter much to me as I was on a mission to handle business. I did not need or want any validation or push back from anyone. Once I entered the examination room and began speaking with the nurse, I went straight to the point. I had come to confirm a pregnancy. I silently prayed again that a miracle would occur, and the results would come back negative. As the nurse quickly dismantled my wishful thinking with the reality that I was seven weeks pregnant and that I had options, I was still all the more resolved to have an abortion. I imagine I may have used the language “I wish to terminate the pregnancy” distancing myself from any use of the words “kill”, “my” and “baby”. Neither presented with an ultrasound nor a solemn moment to consider the weight of my decision to keep or end a life, I left the clinic with information on medical abortion. I was initially amazed at how easy medical abortion would be based on the information presented in the pamphlet. My seven-week pregnancy fell within the nine-week cut-off for “the abortion pill”. I had not consulted with anyone or read about anyone else’s experience to know the risks. The truth is that I didn’t want to discover even the tiniest piece of information that would dissuade me from achieving my goal. Unable to cover the $500 cost of the abortion on my own, I asked family members for funds so that I could accomplish the unthinkable. With my heart still far from God and my spirit desensitized to the convicting power of the Holy Spirit, I headed back to the clinic for my appointment finalizing plans to begin the process. I imagine that I signed papers and waivers, but cannot recall. I imagine that I was asked once more if this was my final decision, but I can’t say with certainty. I want to believe that the staff and the nurses were truly concerned for my well-being and safety. However, in the days to come, they would be proven otherwise.
I took the first pill of two, mifepristone, at the clinic. The first pill inhibits the production of the hormone progesterone, which is a key supporting component in sustaining the baby’s growth during pregnancy. Once I took the first pill, there was no turning back. My uterus was now preparing to shed the protective lining it had created for the baby. I exchanged my $500 for an unmarked white paper lunch bag filled with the second pill, misoprostol, and paper work indicating home care instructions, cautions and emergency information should the need arise. According to the nurse, all that was left to do was to go home, get comfortable, give myself a day or two and have some ibuprofen on hand after taking the second pill within a 24 hour window. I was given the choice to go through my abortion with someone by my side or alone…alone? I took the second pill when I arrived home as instructed. Once ingested, the misoprostol introduced prostaglandins into my system, promoting uterine contractions marking the next stage in ending life.
Shortly after taking the second medication, cramping began. I felt the urge to sit on the toilet several times as my body began expelling everything from within my digestive track. Cramping transitioned into intense uterine contractions putting me in a cycle of curling up on the couch and then sitting on the toilet cradling my stomach. Throughout the days to follow, my body labored to release my baby…little by little. At that time, I did not understand the true nature of what I was actually experiencing. According to the medical industry, it was just the premature ending of a pregnancy and a washing away of the evidence. However, I now understand that my body was placed into a labor-induced state. I have since grieved for that mother and that baby who were pushed aside into darkness that traumatic week ten years ago. We were sent home, in the shadow of shame, so that I could birth my baby seven months prematurely in the isolation of a bathroom. There was no one there to hold my hand, provide solace or comfort. There was no one checking my vital signs or quantifying the amount of blood I lost in the process. I could not share with anyone the graphic details of what I saw and experienced as there are images still too difficult to describe.
When I came to myself lying on the floor in the bathroom that day, my world was shaken yet again. I called my mother at work to explain my fainting spell. She headed home while I called Planned Parenthood to determine the severity of my situation. Disappointed by the cool and dismissive response by the female voice on the other end of the phone, I hastily processed the two options she gave me: take myself to the hospital or come to the clinic to have my vital signs checked. Where was her urgency? Her concern? Now, I realize that I was no different from the countless women who had made the same call and were given the same set of choices. With no medical insurance to cover a costly visit to the hospital emergency room, I decided to return to Planned Parenthood. According to the nurse, my vital signs appeared normal, and thus, I returned home to recover alone. Although I attempted to go into work that week, the side effects of my abortion prevented me from doing so. I called out sick multiple days in a row stating that I had some sort of stomach flu that wouldn’t resolve itself. How many women could openly share with her employer that she is taking a few days off to have an abortion needing time for the procedure and recovery? Neither my employer nor my friends knew that my baby lost her life that week, and that I could have lost mine.
For years, I rationalized and minimized my abortion likening it to a little stain barely visible on the bottom of a shirt. Surely, no one would ever notice if I kept everything tucked in nice and neat. I believed that God had already restored my life by providing me with a husband and children. For ten years, while repairing my broken relationship with the Lord, I refused to bring my abortion before God with a humble heart. If I were to make myself emotionally vulnerable to God, I would have to totally trust Him. And if I let Him in, I feared that opening the flood gates would leave me consumed by the pain of my past. Behind my warm smile and people-pleasing behavior, I built a fortress of fear and hypervigilance to repel any possible emotional assaults from others around me. Yet, the lack of relationship boundaries left me trapped in a feedback loop of anxiety and increased mental instability. Influenced by false teaching regarding God’s character, I had feared God’s judgment, His removal of favor and my eternal demise if I failed to uphold unwavering standards in my Christian walk. Through all of the fear and confusion, I still longed to be loved, valued, and declared worthy even in the midst of pain and suffering brought on by my sinful condition.
In 2019, the fortress I built on the sands of human pride collapsed. I had refused to build my emotional foundation upon the rock of Jesus Christ, which left me without peace or without joy. Lacking the emotional fortitude to manage minor day to day issues much less ongoing challenges, I became frustrated to the point of anger and bitterness. I had experienced another low blow to my sense of self. I cried out to God over and over again begging for relief, yet too scared to trust the tender parts of my soul to Him. I yearned to know God’s purpose for me apart from all of the responsibilities I carried out in my daily existence. Life-long spiritual bondage blinded me from seeing God’s extended hand of salvation from my emotional prison. While on the verge of total breakdown, I clung to Jesus, I clung to life, and I clung to God’s promise to answer my prayers.
With grace and gentleness, God has masterfully laid a pathway toward restoration having invited me to choose the life He has designed just for me. In January of 2020, I humbled my heart as the Holy Spirit empowered me with the courage to begin the healing process by surrendering my secret of abortion in the safety of other post-abortive women who affirmed Christ’s love for me. During the intimate conversations with my beloved sisters in Christ, I rediscovered my worth as a unique creation of our Heavenly Father in the pages of His Holy Word. Psalm 139:14 tells me that I am “fearfully and wonderfully made”. Like the Samaritan woman that met Jesus at the well, I have found the living water that Christ gives freely, thus quenching my thirst for unconditional love, acceptance and worth. I can now proclaim that my sin of abortion has been forgiven because of the sacrifice Jesus made on the cross. My faith in His resurrection to life has revived my hope in a future free from shame and guilt. Placing my trust in the Lord has been the key to my salvation and my continued transformation. No longer in the fight for my life, I now rest in the eternal life God has promised through Christ Jesus.